


A Copenhagen Nocturne

by Elleth



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth
Summary: A deserted manor on the outskirts of Copenhagen is a prime target for book-looting. That's not all Emil finds. (In fact he finds no books at all.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiraly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/gifts).



> So... given that this fic was a conversation before it ever was a fic, the anon period is probably a moot point, but I hope you have fun with it regardless. You could say the idea bit me and didn't let go. ;) ♥

"Uh… S-Sigrun? Was that - you?" 

Emil turned slowly, and tried not to breathe in too deeply, because he would never ever get used to funky-smelling old houses, not even when they were huge mansions on the outskirts of Copenhagen. He hoped that didn't mean more trolls.

Behind him, darkness yawned, and he didn't even have a lamp any longer, ever since smashing his in the face of the troll that had tried to eat him just a few days ago, so he puffed a lick of fire from his flamethrower for a little light. No Sigrun, but something moved - quickly and without a sound - away from the light. There was a flutter of red cloth before it was gone. 

Trolls didn't wear clothes. 

"S-Sigrun, this isn't funny! I thought Mikkel was the one with the pranks! Please stop?" He couldn't stop his voice from breaking into a whine. No answer, not even the muffled laughter he'd expect from Sigrun. 

"Okay, I'll just… move on. I'm leaving you alone, whatever you are. Back to the entrance. I bet there are no books here anyway." 

He turned around and took one step after the other, straining his eyes against the dark and feeling his way with one hand braced against the wall until he reached forward and met only empty air, nearly stumbling sideways.

Emil puffed out an angry breath, pulled himself up straight, and ran a hand through his hair. An intersecting corridor. Mansions had those. His childhood home had had them. A cool breath of air wafted from the corridor, and at least it was clear, not the sickening smell from further in. Perhaps it was a quicker way out. 

Five minutes later, Emil was crawling up what felt like an endless stairway on all fours, and wanted to bite himself somewhere it hurt. He was such an idiot! And damn Sigrun for splitting up again and not even giving him the light. She was the hunter; she was good at this stuff. She wouldn't have needed it! And then that prank! She'd probably found an old fancy dress or something - his mother had had a few of them, from fabrics that they couldn't even make any longer, before all their wealth had gone down the drain, and an old manor like this seemed like a good way to find one of those. Damn Sigrun for that as well. 

But at least he'd be in the light - dim and grey in a way that meant it had either started raining outside, or it was nearing dusk, or both, and neither was good news. But at least it was light, and he wouldn't be sitting in one of the dark hallways any longer, probably surrounded by trolls that could see him just fine, while he had no clue they were there before one ate his face. 

He'd stay there until Sigrun found him. If he was lucky, the window would even look down on the tank, and he'd be able to yell at them until Sigrun came to fetch him and apologize. 

When he finally reached the top of the stairs and pulled himself upright again, a detail gave him pause. Dust had settled heavily on the creaking floorboards, but something had disturbed it, making little trails through the room, and giving the rain-splattered picture window looking out on the mansion gardens - while the tank parked near the front of the building - at the room's narrow side a curious berth. Trolls then, he thought, after all. What else would live in an abandoned manor house and shun the light? 

And hide in… 

Emil squinted. Then he rubbed his eyes, and shook his head, and pinched himself. 

… a coffin. In a corner furthest from the light stood a coffin and the tracks through the dust led right toward it. 

Right. This was… morbid. Perhaps one of the mansion's former inhabitants had prepared for the Rash to get to them, and had had this made, and then had turned into a troll before there'd been any chance to use it? So the troll was using it now. 

That had to be the explanation. Nothing else made sense. 

Emil slumped against the wall and slid down until he hit the floor, crossed his arms and waited. He was not going to move another centimeter before Sigrun came to fetch him, and he definitely wasn't going to go near that troll coffin. No way. 

* * *

When darkness fell, Emil had painted fifteen games of tic tac toe with himself into the dust. He'd managed to lose about half, which only spoke to his state of mind. Sigrun still hadn't come to fetch him. Emil knew he should be worried for her, but she had probably used her _light_ to find a treasure trove of _books_ and had been busy loading them into the _tank_ with the _others_ , and now they were having a _nice evening_ waiting for the rain to let up before looking for him the next day. 

Nevermind him sitting alone in a gross old house. Nevermind that there was a troll in a coffin that could wake up any moment now.

They made _such_ a great team. But of course. It had always been him. And it would always be h- 

The floorboards creaked. Emil bolted to his feet and fumbled for his flamethrower. 

Something - _someone_ \- was climbing from the coffin, yawning and stretching. A red cloak fell in folds from his shoulders. The same red that he'd seen in that dim hallway before.

No way. Nooooo way. 

"Y-you're. Not a troll. Are you? It was _you_ earlier, down there, it wasn't Sigrun." 

Luminous silver eyes that seemed to catch the light like a cat's trained themselves on Emil from across the room. His skin, stretching over sharp cheekbones and slender fingers, was so pale that it seemed to glow in the dim. 

Emil swallowed, hard, when those eyes narrowed. 

"Do I _look_ like a troll?" The owner of that voice spoke in a half-whisper, but his voice carried across the room despite the drum of rain. It should have made it hard to hear, not as clear as if he was speaking inside Emil's own head. Emil shuddered. Old houses and their weird acoustics. 

Emil shook his head.

The not-a-troll asked, "who are you?", but the way his lips moved didn't match the words he said, and Emil heard something, faintly - it sounded a lot like the Finnish that Tuuri sometimes hummed to herself when she drove down a smooth stretch of road, but he wasn't so certain. It might just be a weird accent. Anything other than Swedish was mostly gibberish anyway, even if he had brains enough to understand most of it with no problem. 

"I'm - I'm waiting," Emil said. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to hang around your uh, _bedroom_ , I didn't even _know_ it was your bedroom, it's just - my people have forgotten about me, and I'll probably have to stay here for the night. I'm not going back down there on my own." 

"Mrrr." 

Now that matched his lip movements exactly. And nice lips, they were, too. Narrow and pale, but… kissable. Very kissable. 

Emil shook his head wildly. "What. What are you - what is _happening_?!" 

He got no answer. When Emil had managed to calm the thump and rush of his heart and looked up again, the room was empty. 

Emil let go of a breath and settled back against the wall. He should have asked to be shown out. 

He laid his flamethrower over his knees in case there were trolls, but he couldn't stop thinking about kissing those lips. 

* * *

"It doesn't work with the unwilling. Just so you know." 

Emil jerked upward blindly when the half-whispery voice resumed, and at the same time a puff of cool air, tinged faintly metallic, hit his face. 

"Wha-?" He rubbed at his eyes, willing his vision to focus and make sense. He - he must have fallen asleep, and now the grey light of dawn was stretching first fingers into the room. "Oh, it's - it's you." The not-a-troll was kneeling in front of him, in a patch of shadow that Emil's body cast. 

So that… hadn't been a dream after all. Emil wasn't sure if he should be relieved or annoyed, but he definitely _felt_ relieved. It was good not to be alone any longer, that must be it. Either they were all sleeping in, or the tank was gone by now; Sigrun must have concluded that Emil, not coming out, had been eaten. If he was going to spend the rest of his life here, it'd be short and probably mostly miserable, but at least he wouldn't be all alone. 

"What do you mean?" he asked. "What doesn't work, and who's not willing?" 

"No. You are _willing_. To be my victim. To let me feed. My charms… only work on willing victims. If there is attraction. And all I managed to feed on tonight was a squirrel. Immune creatures are rare. You smell good." 

Emil's thoughts tumbled. There were phrases and euphemisms he only knew in the context of how they should never be used in decent company. "Victims? _Feed?!!_ Are you _propositioning_ me?"

He thought for a moment that he'd be alone again in an instant, for the flicker of incredulity in those eyes, but his companion merely reached out, brushed cold fingers over his jaw, and tipped his mouth shut. 

"Yes. In a way." His hands fell lightly on Emil's shoulders. "Please. I am hungry." The touch might as well have been nothing, the brush of a twig, but it rooted him to the spot like nothing ever had. Emil closed his eyes, tilting his head away, against the million and one thoughts and wants that clouded up his brain suddenly. _Tilt your head a little further; I won't hurt you very much…_

His lips were at Emil's throat now, and Emil belatedly realized that he didn't even know anything at all about his companion - age, probably, not much older than he himself was, but why he was living on the edge of the Silent World and sleeping in a coffin, or even what his name was… but he felt undeniably comfortable with him, warm, and as though they'd known each other all his life. 

"Lalli. My name is Lalli," the voice said, in a timbre that Emil could only think of as a deep, rumbling purr, like that of some great cat. Content and intimate, even though his lips were ice cold, seeking and then lingering open and with gentle pressure against the pulse point of his throat. 

_Lalli._ Emil eased into his hold, breathing deeply of Lalli's skin and hair. There was no particular scent to them; he must have been living in this house forev- 

A sharp sting - _two_ sharp stings - made Emil bolt upright, out of Lalli's hold. So much for comfortable!

_"What the **hell** , Lalli, did you just bite me?!"_

Lalli blinked up at him from the floor. There were red specks on his lips that were probably blood. Emil's own blood, the same blood that was now trickling down his neck and clinging warm and wet and sticky to his glove when he pressed against the bite mark. He felt woozy all of a sudden. He'd never liked seeing blood. His own blood especially.

"What did you expect? I am -"

Then blackness engulfed Emil, and the floor rushed up to meet him. 

* * *

When Emil woke and tried to sit up, he hit his head on a ceiling that shouldn't be as low as it was, in a room that shouldn't be as narrow - _oh_. He laid back down, trying to make sense of what had happened. 

The coffin. After he had fainted, Lalli had put him in the coffin. And squeezed in with him, like a bundle of twigs. It made sense, too, if Emil gave it a moment's thought, and the pieces that had just been weirdness before clicked into place suddenly about why Lalli did what he did: No troll would get at him in this box. It was still weird, and a little creepy at that, but beggars could not be choosers, something his parents had to drill into Emil for a long time after their fortune had gone. It was also a little weird and creepy how Lalli, half draped over him and his eyes squeezed shut in sleep, was so icy cold and so light that Emil didn't even feel him breathing. 

"Hey. Hey, Lalli, what - what happened?" 

He nudged him with an elbow, and Lalli's cat-like eyes flew open, pinpricks of light in the near-black. 

"Mrrr."

Somehow, Emil felt it was right to keep his voice low. "I just wanted to say - thanks for not leaving me out there for the trolls to eat. And I'm sorry for fainting. What you did was… it was nice, just the biting… took me by surprise. And the bleeding, I didn't like that. Could you.. not do that... next time?" 

Next time? When had Emil decided he wanted there to be a next time?

Lalli's voice, when he was done staring, was withering. "Then what would be the _point_?"

"Of not biting?" 

"..."

"I think you owe me an explanation. Not about y-your - your… I'm sorry, I'll just say… fetish, I just - why are you here? Why aren't you living at home? You're Finnish, I think. Why do you live in Denmark?"

"..."

"Lalli?" 

"Let me sleep." 

"No!" 

A deep sigh, a hiss more than anything else, and Lalli started talking.

* * *

"... so you're living here because of superstition? In this place? You don't even have heating, no wonder you're so cold!" 

Emil had tried his best to listen and make sense of Lalli's account, but no matter which way he turned it, short of not believing a word of what Lalli told him because he was clearly pulling his leg, the best explanation he came up with was a big misunderstanding. Finns were weird, everyone in Sweden knew that - backwards and living in their horrible forests without civilization, speaking a language that wasn't even related to Swedish, and believing in gods and mages and magic, rather than the rational facts of life. 

He started pitying Lalli. Or perhaps it wasn't superstition, and he was a poor soul like the ones in the asylum in Mora. Maybe he'd gone mad living here alone, or maybe he'd been mad from the beginning to come here in the first place. 

Anything else was ridiculous. Someone his age, living alone in the Silent World, shunning the light, biting, sleeping in a coffin… Emil knew what that sounded like, and he was pretty sure he was right: Lalli was completely, sadly, _mad_. 

"Stop that, stop _pitying_ me," Lalli hissed as though he'd heard Emil's thought, the cadence of his voice now all anger as he repeated his story in brief. "Don't. It is _not_ superstition. I lived in Saimaa with my family. Eleven years ago, a Kade led a group of trolls to attack my settlement. He - _it_ \- killed my family. I was too young to fight and my magic too weak, but I tried, and as a punishment I was cursed to be - this. Crave blood and hate daylight until my family found me and released me, and they cannot. So I fled as far as my feet would carry me, out of the Known World to where I would do no one harm. Last I saw a human was when the Danes came. _But you had to come here_!" 

"I'm… sorry," Emil muttered. "We didn't mean to do that. We probably wouldn't have if Sigrun had known. Maybe." 

Lalli shrugged, calmer again after the outburst. "It doesn't matter now. You're here now." 

Everything in Emil was straining against the answer that rose to his mind. "I can - I can go, if you like? Maybe Tuuri hasn't driven away yet, maybe they're really waiting out the rain to come for me, and I'll just… get on the tank and never come b-" 

Lalli froze against him. "Say that name again." 

"Tuuri? What about Tuuri? She's Finnish, yeah, but - " 

Lalli seized his shoulders and shook. Emil's head bumped against the coffin's lid and three of its sides. His teeth clacked shut. 

"What is her last name?" 

Emil told him. 

* * *

"... before we - before we get out of here," Emil said, and coughed, casting around the dark corridor nervously. Lalli was with him, and he knew his way around the house even in the near-dark of the corridors, leading him with Emil's hand on his shoulder, but that did not mean they were safe from trolls. "I want to ask something."

"You are… saving me," Lalli rasped, and Emil couldn't tell if his voice was smug, or annoyed, or both. Lalli didn't seem like someone who was very prone to smugness. Or happiness. Or anything much more than various degrees of annoyance. "You may ask anything." 

"The curse - if that is true at all, and I don't even know if Tuuri knows you - but if it is true - what are you?" 

Lalli stopped and turned around to give Emil another incredulous look. Then the shoulder under Emil's hand twitched, and then Lalli - Lalli was gone, quick and soundless like a shadow. Emil stood alone in the darkness. 

"Lalli? Lalli! _Damnit_ , Lalli!" 

Something scrabbled through the darkness ahead of him. How Lalli had gotten into the rafters of the corridor Emil never had a chance to ask, because next he looked, Lalli flung his arms wide, and his red cloak rippled and billowed like the wings of a bat. 

"I'm a creature of the night!" Lalli intoned dramatically, illuminated by some unseen light source, and if Emil hadn't known that it was nonsense, a prank to scare children - he could have sworn that Lalli was sporting a set of long, sharp, fangs as he glided back down to the floor. 

"Yeah," Emil said, swallowing down the 'right' that wanted out after it. No need to be _that_ rude. But if there was anything to Lalli's story, if Tuuri really _was_ his long-lost and believed-dead cousin who'd managed to escape the attack, if there really was a curse that she could somehow lift - or even if there wasn't - Emil had come to a decision. After all, everyone knew that vampires, like the Old-Worlders' dinosaurs, had gone extinct. 

"Yeah," he repeated. "But I'm keeping you."


End file.
